


My Name Is

by battle_cat



Series: Fury Road Ficlets [5]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Names, No Plot/Plotless, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 04:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6785161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She likes saying his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Name Is

She likes saying his name.

She thinks it suits him perfectly. A single syllable, unadorned and practical, nothing wasted. A rumble in the front and a hiss in the back, sharp like a sudden blade at your throat. A restless noise tumbling in the desert wind, the sound of something that was already gone when you turned to look for it.

Once she knows it, she says it whenever she can.

“Max.” The barest whisper of breath when they reunite, something for him and him alone as their foreheads touch, as her fingers curl into his tangled hair.

“Max!” A command in battle, and he is always there, always, reading the threat before she needs to explain it, being the force she needs when the enemies are too many even for her, not her second but her double, her equal, the extra hand on the wheel and the gun and the wrench she hadn’t known she was missing.

 _“Max…”_ A gasp as their bodies meet, as his hands settle over the breadth of her back and the curve of her ass, as he backs her up until she’s trapped between the stone wall and his weight, as his stupidly soft mouth steals away her breath before she can catch it and her flesh hand can do nothing but clutch at his jacket.

“Max, Max, Max, ohh, fuck, Max—” His name over and over as he holds her in place, a solid forearm against her hips and a hand pinning her knee to the sheets as he takes her apart with his mouth, until the name breaks into pieces under the force of her pleasure, _mmm_ s and _aaahhh_ s and _AAAHHH_ s as he pushes her over the edge again and again.

 

He hardly ever says her name.

In public, he calls her Furiosa, when he has to call her something. Never Imperator, the title that sticks to her despite her every effort to peel it off, scrape it away, scrub herself clean. Never any of the ridiculous honorifics people too used to worshipping make up for her. Not even as a joke.

At night, in bed, he sometimes whispers “Furi,” a hot breath in her ear when he’s particularly undone, and she treasures it, tries to memorize the low rumble of his voice each time he says it. She wishes he would do it more often, but it’s hard enough to get him to say anything at all.

 

“Do you have another name?” she asks one night as they lie together, sweaty bodies cooling in the night breeze drifting through her room’s small window. “A…a family name?”

There is something inexplicably old about him; remnants of the Before-time cling to him like odd bits of salvage tucked in forgotten pockets. It seems like something he might have, the way the oldest Mothers did, although most had discarded them as Old World things like marriage records and inherited property burned.

For a long moment he doesn’t answer. Then he says, “Rockatansky.”

She giggles. She can’t help it, because it’s so unlike him, rounded and rolling and elaborate. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly, because it’s his _name_. It was just…not what she expected, something that should belong to another person.

He’s turned his face away. With a sudden clench in her belly she worries she’s offended him. Maybe it was the name of a proud tribe from the Before-times. Maybe it was sacred, only to be spoken carefully.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“Was.” He stops, and she can see the flash of his throat as he swallows. “Was her name too. And—” He swallows again.

 _Oh._ Family for him meant something different than lineages and passed-down rituals. Something more intimate. And painful. She feels a hot flush of shame for laughing.

“I didn't mean to...” she tries to explain. “Just...different than I thought it would be.”

His face is still turned away from her. She slides up to rest her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, feeling the thud of his heartbeat under warm skin. He doesn’t turn to look at her, but he doesn’t push her away.

“I’m glad to have reason to know your name, Max Rockatansky,” she says softly.

“Mm.” Something tugs at the plane of his cheek, the only bit of his face not in shadow. It might be a smile, but there’s something bitter and broken about it. “Jus’…jus’ Max’ll do.”

“As you wish.” Her intact arm slides around his ribcage, and he doesn’t stop her. “Max.”


End file.
